


A Song For You

by Concetta20



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Concetta20/pseuds/Concetta20
Summary: A two-shot for now, for the new NBC show, "Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist".
Relationships: Zoey/Max
Comments: 6
Kudos: 133





	1. What Can You Lose?

**Author's Note:**

> The song “What Can You Lose?” is from Dick Tracy, sung by Mandy Patinkin and Madonna, written by Stephen Sondheim. It’s very pretty and bitter-sweet. Only two episodes have aired, as of writing this, and I am already writing a fanfic for it, I'm enjoying its potential that much.

Authoress' Note: The song "What Can You Lose?" is from Dicky Tracy, sung by Mandy Patinkin and Madonna, written by Stephen Sondheim. It's very pretty and bitter-sweet.

. . . . . . .

Chapter 1

Zoey peeked over the edge of her open laptop at her best friend at the desk across from her. Besides security, they were the only two left in the building, putting in overtime on a project they were spearheading together.

Max had not sung to her in a month. Which meant his relationship with Autumn must be going well and he's moved on.

Zoey had got what she wanted; she got to keep her best friend and do the boss thing with minimal personal distractions.

No harm, no foul.

. . . Then why did her heart ache?

Had his romantic for her been _that_ shallow? All he had needed was a roll in the hay and that was it?

" _Are you_ sure _you're not jealous of Autumn and Max?"_ Mo's voice echoed in her head.

"I'm not!"

Because if she was, that would suck, because she created this situation.

"You're 'not' what?"

Zoey looked wide-eyed over her laptop at Max. He was half-way out of his chair and looking at her concernedly.

_Did I say that out loud?_

"I . . . I was just . . . reacting to a text message . . . from my brother."

Max chuckled. "Oh, really? What did he say?"

Zoey blinked at him as she desperately tried to think up something. "Just _stuff_ . . . you know how he is."

Max slowly sat back down. "Yeah. He does know how to push your buttons."

Zoey gave a sigh of what sounded like long-suffering to Max but was actually of relief for Zoey. " _Tell_ me about it!"

Silence reigned again, only broken by the clacking sounds of keystrokes and mouse clicks.

"Gosh, I'm getting the munchies," Zoe said to break the silence which seemed uncomfortable only for her. "I'm gonna go grab something from the cereal bar, want some?"

Max did not break his focus on his computer screen. "In a minute . . . I'm on to something here . . ."

"Okay."

Zoey pushed away from her desk and made her way up over to the tubes of cereal. She grabbed a spoon and began to tap her lips as she surveyed the choices.

Suddenly the faint notes of a piano came into her head. Her gaze snapped down to Max, who she could see between the cereal tubes.

He was looking up at her intently.

Zoey dropped her spoon and the loud clatter it made did not seem to disturb him.

" _What can you lose?_

_Only the blues._

_Why keep concealing everything you're feeling?_

_Say it to her, what can you lose?_

Zoey's breath hitched when he slowly rose from his chair and stepped over to her, taking long strides with soft foot-falls, like a dancer. But when he got one foot on the short set of stairs that led up to the cereal bar dais he stopped, his expression went from achingly hopeful to being full of doubt. He leaned back a bit.

" _Maybe it shows?_

_She's had clues which she chose to ignore,_

_Maybe though, she knows_

_And she just wants to go on as before?_

_As a friend nothing more,_

_So she closes the door . . ._

Max kept his eyes on her but backed down from the step and started making his way back to his desk, his hands in his pockets.

" _Well, if she does,_

_Those are the dues . . ._

_Once the words are spoken_

_Something may be broken . . ."_

Max pivoted back to look up at her, a sweet grin on his face.

" _Still you love her,_

_What can you lose?"_

He came back to the bottom of the stairs, leaning forward with both hands on the railings.

" _But what if she goes?_

_At least now you have part of her . . ._

_What if she had to choose?"_

Max bowed his head and gave it a shake. He then pushed off from the railings and turned away.

" _Leave it alone,_

_Hold it all in,_

_Better a bone, don't even begin,_

_With so much to win . . ."_

Max paused to sit heavily back down in his chair, rubbing his eyes then pushing that same hand through his black curly hair.

_"There's too much to lose . . ."_

"I'm not hearing any crunching, did you not find the cereal you wanted . . . Zoe?"

Max looked up at Zoey up to see her hastily wiping tears from her eyes.

"Zoey?" he rushed up the stairs and automatically pulled her into a hug. "Hey, what's wrong?"

His warmth and solidity spread throughout Zoey's body and she had the urge to bury her face into his soft sweater.

"David's text must've really got to you. I'll hold him and you punch, how's that sound?"

Zoey managed a watery chuckle and gently nudged herself out of his embrace.

"No, it's not that." _I'm not sure why I'm crying._ Zoey sniffed and wiped her nose with the pack of her hand. Max fished out a linen handkerchief from his pocket.

"Thanks."

"Remember I got those from your Dad that first Christmas? Told me a gentleman never leaves the house without one."

Zoey smiled at the picture that conjured up. She gratefully dabbed her eyes and nose. She did remember her Dad always having them on him, white with a blue border and monogrammed - from Mom . . .

Now Zoey started crying over her Dad.

"Hey . . . hey, now . . ." Max crooned, cupping her face and wiping the tears away with his thumbs. He leaned in closer to pin her with a concerned look. "Seriously, Zoey. What's going on?"

Her heart suddenly slammed into her chest and a wave of heady heat swept through her.

"Is it . . ." Max winced and lowered his voice as he did not like to ask this question: " _is it that time of the month?"_

That helped cool a little of the sensations Zoey was experiencing but did cause her to blush from a different emotion. She stepped out of his reach.

"No! No. I don't know what's wrong with me. I think I'm just tired. I've been working on this project too long."

Max put his hands on her shoulders. "Then _go home_ , get some rest. It's Friday."

"But - "

"I got this."

Zoey looked up at Max's sweetly sympathetic expression and saw the underlying strength.

She sighed. "Okay."

. . . . . . .

On Monday Max let Zoey know that he and Autumn broke up. When Zoey asked him why, she couldn't get a straight answer.


	2. I Could Write a Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authoress’s Note: I’m so Team Max, but I have a feeling the show’s going to have her end up with Simon. Ho-hum. Song credits go to Richard Rogers and Lorenz Hart, and REO Speedwagon; Eddie Cooley and Otis Blackwell.

_La Playa Hotel, Carmel-by-the Sea, California_

  
  


“Ready?” Jessica looked over her shoulder at the jostling women behind her. “Here it goes!” To those hopeful, the single ladies, the perfectly crafted bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley, rosemary, and Persian buttercups seemed to pause at the height of its trajectory before it beginning its descent toward the grasping hands below. Zoey had stood among the group out of appreciation for tradition but told herself she was not going to reach for it -- until it seemed to be aiming for her head. Then, some vengeful spirit of spinster-hood seemed to possess her and she felt herself make a jump for it. Her hand snapped out and grasped the bouquet by the trailing ribbons, yanking it down into her arms then held it aloft in raw triumph.

“YES!” 

The reception tent went quiet just long enough for Zoey to come back to herself and blush. Then the party erupted into congratulatory applause.

“Well done, Zoey!” Simon exclaimed coming up to her with his bride on his arm. “I thought you said you didn’t do sports as a kid.”

“Well, every now and then a blind squirrel does find a nut, am I right?” Zoey smiled, giving two stiff thumbs up.

“No truer words,” Simon nodded with mock sagacity. Jessica laughed and, reaching out, she took Zoey’s free hand she gave it a fond squeeze.

“I’m glad _you_ caught it.” 

Jessica had observed from her collective interactions with Zoey that the red-headed programmer had had a crush on her fiance, now husband; and how she had handled that crush with maturity and restraint and had not tried to steal Simon away. In fact, when she and Simon were going through a rough patch through a misunderstanding involving Zoey, she boldly, yet humbly, stepped in and somehow was able to bring them to a better understanding of each other. Jessica appreciated it even more in light of watching Zoey’s interactions with Simon. A tendril of fear had crept in -- a thought -- that if Simon had not met her first, he might very well have fallen for Zoey. 

Jessica had met Simon when he came to London for work and had presented him the humanitarian award on behalf of her company. When she transferred to the American branch she had trouble making connections with others. Her natural British reserve coupled with her Surrey accent that sounded posh to most American ears, gave people the impression that she was sophisticated, charming, but unknowable. When she reconnected with Simon he was the first person to have seen past that and been able to draw her out of the shell she had unintentionally made. Zoey had been the next, surprisingly.

Jessica released Zoey’s hand and tugged on Simon’s arm.

“Your turn.”

Simon’s eyebrows wiggled. “Oh, right!”

Zoey beat a hasty retreat to the table she was sharing with Max who was wearing a sublime expression on his face as he tucked into his stuffed chicken medallions. 

“How in the _world_ they got Hand-Picked to cater their wedding,” he wondered between bites, “I’ll never know. Though, I have a theory it involves their firstborn child.”

Zoey laughed. “It _is_ a surprise. Some powerful people must’ve pulled some strings to not only get them, but to get the hotel to allow them to use outside catering.”

Zoey sat down beside him and put her arm on the table, resting her head in her hand and shielding her eyes from the dance floor at the same time. 

“They’re about to do the garter thing. I hate the garter thing, it’s so awkward.”

“I know.” Max concurred. “I feel like I shouldn’t be watching . . .” He trailed off as his gaze slid to the dance floor.

“Max!” Zoey irritably smacked him on the arm, biting back a grin.

“What?” He said, continuing to stare. “I’ll tell you when it’s safe to look.”

Zoey didn’t bother hiding the grin this time as she playfully smacked him again. He was teasing her now.

“Ow! Ok, ok.” He laughed as he turned away. 

_“Never know how much I love you . . .”_

Zoey turned at hearing Simon’s voice. He was kneeling before Jessica gingerly slipping his hands under the many layers of white tulle around her ankles. Jessica was beet-red and had her hands folded demurely in her lap.

_“Never know how much I care,_

_When you put your arms around me, I get a fever that is hard to bear_

_You give me fever . . .”_

Two months ago the sight might have caused her pain, but now all that remained was a slight wistfulness.

“Congratulations, by the way.” Max’s voice refocused Zoey’s attention to him.

“What?” 

Max nodded at the bouquet resting on the table.

“Oh, yes! Thank you.”

Max picked up his spoon and held it as if it were a microphone. “How do you feel?”

Zoey sniffed and thumbed her nose. “Well, first of all, I wanna say the other team played really well but, in the end, pure skill won out.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to the bar!”

At the bar, Zoey had to explain what a highball was, but that seemed too complicated for the high half-baked young man behind the bar so she said,

“Just gimmie a rum and Coke.”

When she turned back to her table, drink in hand she saw Max was missing from his seat. She looked around the reception room. Her eyes were then drawn to a knot of young men on the dance floor, grouped a few feet away from Simon who had the garter in his hands.

Zoey gave a rueful smile as she spotted Max. Of _course_ he was there.

She went back to the table and began to idly scroll through her sister-in-law’s Instagram feed for new photos of the baby.

Suddenly excited yelling from the men in the center of the room caused her to look up.

Max held the garter aloft like a triumphant gladiator. The brogrammers and the other men of the wedding party were giving him congratulatory back slaps and arm punches.

“Alllll right,” boomed Mo’s voice from the DJ table. “Let’s clear the floor for the man who caught the garter and the woman who caught the bouquet!”

What?

Zoey’s gaze snapped to Max who returned her deer-in-the-headlights look.

“And what a coincidence!” Mo continued loudly into the mic. “These guys are besties, y’all!”

Max and Zoey stared at each other a moment then Max slowly started making his way over to her, trying to look nonchalant but she detected his feelings of trepidation through the way his eyebrows were faintly furrowed and his mouth was slightly parted to get more air.

“What’s the big deal?” Joan’s voice slid up behind her. “Be glad you know him. _I_ had to dance with a total stranger who wouldn’t keep his hands at ten and two if you know what I mean.” 

Zoey relaxed a little.

Joan gave a wistful sigh. “And we’re still together after all these years . . .”

Zoey twisted to look at Joan. “Wait, you were talking about your _husband_?”

“Just be glad they’re not going the traditional garter-winner-puts-garter-on- bouquet-catcher’s-leg route.”

“Zoey?”

“Hm?!”

Zoey whipped back around, wide-eyed, to face Max who was looking down at her inquiringly.

“Uh . . . may I have this dance?”

“The more you hesitate,” Joan hissed, “the more people are going to suspect there’s something going on with you two and then an annoying rumor mill will start at work.” She elbowed Zoey in the back, pushing her forward, causing her to stumble into Max. He steadied her and gave her a sympathetic look.

“You don’t have to dance with me, Zoe, if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t be silly, there’s nothing I’d like to do more! Just as long as you promise not to dip me.”

Max’s gave her a slow, pleased smile and then with an expression of mock solemnity, he drew with his finger an invisible “x” over his chest. Then he held that same hand out to her and Zoey took it. Her heart gave an odd flip as his hand enveloped hers, his thumb gently pressing on her her knuckle, securing his hold

“Now let’s see if that square dancing I learned in Middle School pays off . . .”

Zoey burst out laughing and all the tension seeped out of her. Max chuckled, glad his joke did what he had intended it to. 

Now at ease, Zoey naturally put her right hand on his upper arm, just below his shoulder and Max, with a confidence that Zoey had only seen him display during his heart-songs, put his hand at her waist, drawing her closer. His expression was not seductive, but it was warm enough to get her heart-rate up. 

_Treacherous heart, why are you doing that?_

“Oh, I know this song!” Zoey exclaimed, desperate to focus on something else. 

“Oh yeah, me too.” Max said tilting his head to the side. “It was in that movie . . .”

“‘When Harry Met Sally’.”

“ _Yes._ We _both_ saw it for the first time at your parents’ house. They made us watch it with them for some reason.” 

Zoey frowned as it suddenly occurred to her why. She turned her head to send a glare across the floor at Mo, who saw her look and gave an innocent shrug.

“I liked it.”

“Yeah, me too . . .”

“Except for that one scene in the diner -- it would’ve been fine if your parents weren’t there. I felt like I had to take a shower afterward . . .”

Zoey managed a genuine laugh at that one.

“Same . . . same.”

_“If they asked me I could write a book,_

_About the way you walk and whisper and look . . .”_

All of a sudden Harry Connick’s iconic voice seemed to change and sounded suddenly very close to her ears. 

_“I could write a preface on how we met,_

_So the world would never forget . . .”_

Zoey glanced upward.

Yep. It was Max.

He was wearing a huge, warm, and charming smile. This was probably the first time she witnessed someone’s heart-song express itself at the same time as the song played in real-time.

He spun her out. 

_“And the simple secret of the plot . . .”_

Max tugged on her hand and she obediently twirled back in so her back was against his chest and his arm was across her collarbone and they swayed.

_“Is just to tell you that I love you, a lot . . .”_

Zoey was shocked to find herself relishing the warm solidity of his chest against her back. But too soon Max unwound her from his hold.

_“Then the world discovers as my book ends,_

_How to make two lovers of friends . . .”_

The song went into a break with a single horn before swelling into full swing.

Zoey was grateful for the few lessons she took from Swing Club back in college because Max knew how to cut a rug in his mind. He led her into the “bow-tie”, then back to the original position.

_Triple step, triple step, rock-step . . ._

_“And the simple secret of the plot,”_

Then he let go and raised his hands up to cup her face. Her eyes dropped down to his cupid-bow lips and the soft, fond, smile that played on them. A feeling of contentment spread through her and she wished the song were longer.

_“Is just to tell you that I love you, alot._

_Then the world discovers as my book ends . . .”_

Max’s body language stiffened and he stepped back a pace. The noise of chattering people filled Zoey’s ears. Other couples had joined the floor soon after they had started dancing.Harry Connick, Jr.’s honeyed voice returned.

_“ . . . how to make two lovers of friends . . .”_

Max gave her his trademark easy, slightly self-deprecating, grin; then bowed low and said in an overdone British accent, “thank you for the dance, milady.”

“That’s sooo racist,” Tobin drawled as he strolled by them with Autumn on his arm. He had swooped in and caught her on the rebound once she and Max’s brief fling ended three months before.

Max and Zoey simultaneously rolled their eyes. Zoey gave an awkward curtsey.

“Thank _you_ , kind sir.”

The beginning bouncy notes of “I Saw the Sign,” suddenly sounded and Joan walked between them pulling her husband behind her. “All right it’s time for the adults to dance and this is my jam. Scoot.”

“It’s not like the dance floor isn’t big enough for the both of us,” Max muttered as he led Zoey back to their table. 

“With Joan’s personality, it isn’t,” chuckled Zoey. 

As she sipped her highball she glanced over at Simon and Jessica making the rounds around the tables. 

_What was it Mom said?_ _“True love was more than attraction?”_

Zoey still found Simon attractive, but objectively, like one would admire a work of art or Tom Hiddleston. She had realized that, despite her crush, the deep emotional connection she thought they had shared, had been gained from knowledge unnaturally attained by her strange powers. The grief they shared over their fathers was real, but that was all that connected them. A single strand; whereas -- she stole a surreptitious glance at her best friend -- her relationship with Max was a whole rope--heck, multiple ropes-- a tall ship-full of ropes--okay, enough with the rope metaphors . . .

Just watching her parents’ relationship over the months of the progression of her Dad’s palsy had proven her mom’s statement. True love never happened at first sight, and it was more than a feeling -- Zoey shook off the Boston song that tried to jump in her head -- love continued through action when the heady initial feelings faded.

Love was built over time, through getting to know each other and sharing life. Love continued to support even when your loved one could no longer wrap their arms around you. Seeing Max with her father, speaking to him as he normally would before the disease, making eye-contact with him even as Mitch struggled to meet his . . . that was the first time her feelings for Max had deepened from friendship to love. True love. And she had not even really realized it until now.

Why did Max act so normal around her outside of his heart-songs? Maybe he did not even realize he was in love with her. Maybe he was mistaking his love for feelings of friendship and the heart-songs were coming deep out of his subconscious.

“Do you think they’ll smash cake in each other’s faces or they’ll be nice?”

“What?”

“Zoey, you’ve been staring at the centerpiece for a full two minutes, are you okay?”

Zoey looked into those concerned brown eyes. She could feel her curséd ginger complexion was turning bright red as her heart sped up.

“I’m fine!” She picked up her wedding program and began to fan herself. “Just a little flushed from the dance, I guess.”

“Can I get you some water?”

“Sure.”

Zoey took a deep breath and let it leak out slowly through willing her heart to slow down. Max came back and hastily put the now full glass on the table as he noticed a tear running down her cheek, which Zoey quickly tried to swipe away.

“You are _not_ fine. Come on,” Max said firmly and, taking her hand, led her outside the Pacific Room into the cool night air of the terrace. “Now, what’s up?”

“I --” Zoey started then looked back inside the reception room which was lined with picture windows, affording no privacy.

“Not here.” Zoey grabbed Max’s hand now and led him off the terrace, to the patio. Still too many people. 

“Not here, either.” She yanked him down the steps and into the garden, past the area where the staff were still clearing away the ceremony paraphernalia and into the gazebo that was shielded from general view by a group of fragrant English boxwoods. 

“Zoey, what--?” Max’s puzzled expression melded into shock when Zoey threw her arms around his neck and, raising herself onto the tips of her toes, pressed her lips to his. Max flinched and made a surprised noise.

Zoey let go and lowered her feet to the ground to look worriedly up at him.

Max blinked, wide-eyed at her. A look of pleasure mixed with fear flickered across his face as his eyes searched hers.

Suddenly, the sound of ‘80’s synth and drums swelled around her. Max was beaming.

_“And I can’t fight this feeling any more,_

_I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for,_

_It’s time to bring this into the shore,_

_And throw away the oars forever . . .”_

Max cupped her face and leaned down to softly return her kiss.


End file.
